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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789535">Vinaigrette</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Ficlet, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:41:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lunch and suggestions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chakotay/Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vinaigrette</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are billions of different kinds of salads in the universe—some so quintessential that when he hears the broad, umbrella term, his mind automatically remembers the look and taste of their specific recipes, and there are others that stray so far from the beaten path that it’s a wonder anyone gives them the label of ‘salad’ at all. Neelix’s Talaxian boot-stick salad definitely falls into the latter category. Sure, it’s a bowl of green solids with a thin coat of liquid dressing. But those greens are big fuzzy bricks with the texture of cat-hair, and the dressing’s a fluorescent purple-blue that actually glows. Neelix says the name’s a bad translation, but in Chakotay’s eye, the salad looks like a bowl of thick sticks and tastes like old boots. </p><p>Not that Chakotay’s ever eaten his boots. He almost might’ve, if he’d been stuck on that last survey mission for another week. When the replicator went down in the shuttle, he and Chell were forced to live on ancient re-sequenced protein packs, and even that supply ran so low that Chakotay spent his first day back just eating. Now he has a whole new appreciation for real, raw food, even when it was grown on an alien world and clearly cooked for a very alien palette. </p><p>He’s got a whole tray of it at an empty table in the back, but he’s not surprised when B’Elanna comes by with just a small plate of a few furry sticks. She looks less than enthusiastic about the option, and Chakotay resists the urge to say it’s better than gagh. </p><p>She nods to the cushions across from his and asks, “This seat taken?”</p><p>His mouth’s too full to answer, so he just shakes his head. Even if he nodded, she’d probably sit down anyway. It’s a formality they’re long past. She slides down and snugly takes up the rest of the table, right at home like they’ve always been, even though their clothes and the scenery have changed. She asks, “How’re you doing?” and shovels a jagged green chunk into her mouth before instantly wincing. </p><p>Chakotay finishes chewing his and spears the next piece. “Glad to be back. How’ve you been? Any Engineering emergencies I should hear about?” </p><p>“Nothing worth reporting. How’re you and Tom?”</p><p>Chakotay pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. She has her eyes on her plate, frowning forlornly as she stirs it, as though mixing the sauce in past the fur will make it any better. “Shouldn’t I be asking <i>you</i> that?”</p><p>B’Elanna shrugs. She tries a smaller piece this time, so drenched in dressing that it illuminates her face on the way to her mouth. Around it, she explains, “Well, you started off with a pretty contentious relationship... but you guys seem to be getting along fairly well now.”</p><p>They’ve been getting along well for years. The whole crew’s bonded together so much tighter than Chakotay ever would’ve thought—Starfleet and Maquis alike. “Well, getting stuck in deep space with someone will do that to you.” </p><p>“True.” She seems to have gotten over the initial shock and disgust and is now accepting the ‘salad’ as it comes. “I know, he can be pretty annoying. And difficult. And a bit of an ass. But all that aside, he’s still a likeable guy.” </p><p>“I agree.” He would’ve agreed anyway. But he especially agrees for the sake of B’Elanna’s relationship. He wouldn’t dare to question it to her face, but if Tom was as off-putting as they first thought him, Chakotay would’ve already given him a heavy-handed warning. Not that B’Elanna would need that support.</p><p>“Not to mention cute.” Another bite, and B’Elanna finally looks up, eyes suddenly piercing into Chakotay, like that little nugget was the real reason she sought him out in the first place. </p><p>Chakotay casually agrees, “Sure.”</p><p>“So you agree. You think he’s cute.”</p><p>Chakotay’s brows lift. He wasn’t aware his opinion mattered on that front. But he can admit, “He’s a good looking guy, B’Elanna.” Not sure what she’s looking for, he adds, “You’re lucky.” Tom’s luckier. But still. </p><p>B’Elanna’s fork settles in the bowl and stays there—she pushes her tray back enough to fold her arms over the table. “And he’s a lot of fun.”</p><p>“He is.” Maybe a little too much fun sometimes, but overall, Chakotay’s learned to enjoy him.</p><p>“He’s adventurous... open-minded... y’know... open to a lot of <i>new experiences</i>...” She’s tilting her head, still watching him, dropping little tidbits of conversation that he thinks he’s supposed to be drawing more out of. </p><p>He has a vague idea what that hidden message might be.</p><p>But it’s a lot to presume, so he asks, “Are you going somewhere with this?”</p><p>B’Elanna shrugs again, but this time she’s looking right into his soul, pretending it’s nothing but radiating an intensity that pins Chakotay to the spot. “Well, you and I have always had good chemistry... and Tom’s taken a liking to you too, so...” She just trails it off, tossing the ball back into his court. But it’s painfully obvious how she wants him to serve it.  </p><p>He has to be sure. Their friendship’s too important to misinterpret. Aware that they’re in the messhall, right out in public, him a commanding officer and her technically under him, he leans in and quietly double-checks, “B’Elanna... are you asking what I think you’re asking?”</p><p>She leans in too, close enough that he can see the pure <i>heat</i> in her eyes. She rumbles low in her throat, not so much purring as <i>growling</i>, “We have the holodeck booked tonight at eighteen-hundred hours. We’re going to a beach on Risa. A <i>nude</i> beach.” And there’s the word. The invitation. He can suddenly picture it, her watching him just like this: like a feral cat ready to pounce, without the stuffy uniform covering every bit of her beautiful body. And he can picture Tom right next to her, equally as handsome, grinning with mischief and promise, eager to please his commander. B’Elanna puts the final nail in his coffin: “You’re free to join.”</p><p>Chakotay opens his mouth. Normally, with something like this, he’d ask for time to think about it. It’s a game changer. But he doesn’t need to think. He’s thought about it enough. It’s one of those deep-seated, dirty fantasies he would’ve never breathed a word of aloud, because he never would’ve thought it’d be in the realm of reality, but of course this gorgeous woman and her hot husband have popped up in one too many wet dreams. All he has to say is <i>thank you.</i></p><p>But a third voice interjects, “Mind if I join?”</p><p>Chakotay starts, straightening up and glancing aside at Harry Kim, who’s smiling so innocently down at them. B’Elanna flashes him a charming grin back and sidles out of her seat. “Actually, I think I’ve had about enough of this... ‘salad.’ You can have my seat.”</p><p>Harry immediately protests, “Oh, I didn’t mean—”</p><p>“That’s alright, Harry. I think two men are about all I can handle right now anyway. But we’ll try you next month.” And she has the nerve to throw Chakotay a wink, because of course he understands what she’s really saying.</p><p>Harry doesn’t. His brow knits in confusion as B’Elanna saunters off. It’s not Chakotay’s place to enlighten him. </p><p>But Chakotay gestures to the empty seat and bids Harry to join him, amused and privately excited. He’ll definitely be tossing that salad later.</p>
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